It's Nice To Have A Friend
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Set immediately after the Albany fiasco. Harry is suspended and Ruth is not doing well at all. But when they are together, maybe they can find a little softness in their midst. Happy Birthday, Sir Harry!


**It's Nice To Have A Friend**

Two days. Two unbearable days since Harry had been put on the kinder version of house arrest. He had thought he was going to die up there on that roof. After Ruth's cruel words, after losing Albany, after all of it, he was ready for John Bateman to kill him. He'd left a message for Catherine, needing to tell his children one last time that he thought of them and wanted the best for them. They would have been better off he'd been killed all those years ago, back when Catherine used to scream at him and wish him dead, back when Graham had first treated his father like he didn't exist. It was all Harry deserved.

But all of this Albany mess. Harry had played right into it, and he knew it. This punishment was well earned. Ruth was alive and well, and even if she hated him, he could not apologize for saving her. There was no other choice for him, didn't she see that? John Bateman had known. Christ, everyone in the world knew now. Harry Pearce would do anything for Ruth Evershed. And he had. And he would do it again.

The landline phone in his home rang, which was very odd indeed. No one ever called him at home. Though Five had taken his cell phone away, so this was the only way to reach him. He answered it somewhat warily. "Hello?"

"Harry, it's Beth."

He grumbled slightly. "Miss Bailey, you know you're not supposed to contact me."

"I know, but I shouldn't think it'll matter, since I got fired."

"You what?!"

She brushed him off. "It's fine, Harry, I wouldn't want to work there without you anyway. But that's not why I'm calling. It's Ruth."

Harry's stomach dropped. "What about her?"

"She's in hospital."

"What!? What happened?!" he shouted, pacing around the room with panic.

"Whatever it was that Lucas—John Bateman—gave her. She collapsed in the kitchen this morning, so I called 999. And she's stable now. The doctors said the effects were delayed because of the adrenaline in her system over the last two days. She's going to be okay, except they won't discharge her if there's no one to look after her. And since I got fired yesterday, I'm supposed to be on a flight to Turkey in about three hours."

"Oh, I see."

"She would kill me for calling you, I'm sure you know, but she shouldn't stay in the hospital and she can't be alone and…well…Harry, I think you're her only friend."

_And she's mine_, Harry thought to himself. "What hospital are you at?" he asked Beth.

Harry wrote down the information Beth gave him and thanked her for calling him. And despite knowing he would be followed and monitored by MI-5, Harry collected his car keys and drove to the hospital.

Ruth was lying in a bed feeling that perhaps this time she would slip away and die and not have to worry about anything anymore. And she knew this feeling. She'd had it not three days earlier. Was it three days? Everything sort of ran together. Was she crying now? She'd cried a lot recently. It was hard to tell the difference.

She was grateful to Beth for coming with her to the hospital. Ruth was not used to having a roommate—a friend, dare she say it—look out for her like that. And it certainly wouldn't have been fair to Beth for her to just die on the kitchen floor where she'd collapsed. That wouldn't be very nice of Ruth to do to her.

Beth said she was going to make a call. Ruth did not bother asking who she was calling. It didn't matter. Ruth did not care. It was sort of nice to not be watched for the moment. Between the doctors and nurses running tests and Beth staring worriedly at her, being constantly observed was beyond exhausting. She did not like being watched this way. At one time, she'd known that she was being watched, and she'd very much liked that. She would not have ever admitted it, but there had been something sort of thrilling about looking up from her desk and seeing Harry looking at her through the window of his office.

No, mustn't think about Harry. No more Harry. Not now, not ever. They had fully proven now that the two of them were destructive, not just to each other but to the world. They were no good for one another, no matter how desperately they both might have wished otherwise.

"How are you feeling?"

Ruth's eyes snapped open as the voice she'd just been thinking about suddenly sounded beside her. And there he was. Harry was standing there at the end of her hospital bed. "What are you doing here?"

"Beth called me."

Her eyes narrowed. "She shouldn't have done that. You're suspended."

"She's been fired and needs to get on a plane. And you can't be left alone," Harry countered.

"I'm not alone. I'm hooked up to all these machines," she said facetiously.

"They're ready to discharge you so long as you're not by yourself. Would you rather stay in the hospital?" he snapped.

Ruth frowned at him. "What's the alternative?"

"You come stay with me. I'm under surveillance or else I'd stay at yours. I'll drive you home to pack some things and then you can move into my guest room until you're well," Harry instructed.

And Ruth noticed that. He wasn't asking her, he was telling her. He did that sometimes. She hated it. But she knew what that was. He was terrified of what she would say if he asked. He was afraid she'd say no, that if he asked her, she could say no. If he gave her a command, her refusal would be petulant insubordination and nothing personal. That was why he had said, "Marry me, Ruth," and not "Will you marry me?" She had refused him then, but she could not say no to this. But she would not totally give him the satisfaction. "I won't have you ordering me about. I don't work for you anymore," she told him.

A flicker of panic showed in his eyes. "You don't? Since when?"

"Since you got suspended, Harry."

He relaxed infinitesimally. "Oh. Right."

"So since I don't really have another choice, I suppose I'll go with you," she said in resignation.

Harry just nodded. "I'll talk to the doctors."

Ruth was a bit wobbly on her feet as they walked out to his car after she'd signed all the hospital forms and gotten dressed back in her own clothes. She was shivering, too, but Harry hoped that was just because she was only wearing a light sweater and the cold November air was getting to her.

They were both silent as they drove to Ruth's flat. She did not look at him. She just huddled in the corner of the seat and stared out the window. Harry glanced over at her periodically, checking to see if she was alright. He could not tell if she was or not.

"Stop looking at me like I'm about to keel over," she said softly.

"How do you…"

"I can see your reflection in the window. I'm fine," she insisted.

The light turned green so Harry watched the road. "I'm worried about you," he confessed.

"Well don't."

He scoffed, "Ruth, I don't think a day goes by that I don't worry about you."

She turned to face him with a stormcloud in her face. "Since when?"

Harry had to think about that. It seemed like he'd always worried about her. Thought about her. Wanted her. Needed her. When had that begun? Not from the start, certainly. There had been no lightning bolt for him when it came to Ruth. She was more like a fog, slowly enveloping him till he could see nothing but her. "Andrew Forestall," he realized suddenly. "You went missing. He'd sent a text from your phone saying you were sick. Everyone was worried because you never took a sick day and you never text, but I brushed it off. And it was almost too late before I realized something was wrong, and when I did, I was terrified."

"Were you?"

"I've had officers in danger before. But the kind of gut-wrenching fear I felt for you was something new altogether. I don't think I'd realized how much you meant to me before that. You'd already wormed your way into my heart with your kindness and your morality and your motormouth."

She gave him a smack on the arm for that remark, but thankfully, she was also trying to suppress a smile. "I do not have a motormouth!"

Harry chuckled, turning the car onto Ruth's street. "You certainly did back then," he recalled. "How many times did I have to tell you to take a breath and find the words to tell me something, hmm?"

Ruth sighed, the humor all deflating out of her once more. "I was young and naïve and enthusiastic and eager to please."

"You were not naïve," he countered. "But yes, you were young and enthusiastic and eager to please. And that's what I liked best about you."

"Well I'm none of those things now."

"And I like you all the more for it."

She turned to look at him with a mix of shock and outrage on her face, but luckily they'd pulled up to her building.

Harry parked the car and undid his seatbelt. "We're here. Let's go in and get your things. I think you should take it easy as much as possible. I have strict instructions not to let you exert yourself too much."

"How are you going to stop me?" she challenged.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I can put you in the boot of the car if you try anything."

Ruth got out of the car and followed him into the building. "I'm much heavier than you'd think. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"I'm much stronger than you'd think. Your weight isn't the part of you that's hurt me."

She opened her mouth to respond, but the lift doors opened and a flock of young people came out, laughing and chatting and effectively cutting off anything she might have wanted to say.

It did not take long for Ruth to pack a bag of some clothes and toiletries and books that she would bring with her. After all, she was on medical leave for three weeks. She'd need to find ways to occupy her time. Alone with Harry in his house. While they were both away from work. And all they could do so far was bicker. She had a doctor's appointment in a week and hopefully she would get the all-clear to go back to being on her own. Just one week with Harry might be far too much to manage. She was fairly certain that they'd either end up killing each other or…well, no, actually at this point, killing each other seemed like the only likely outcome.

When they arrived at his house, Harry gave a rather sarcastic wave to the van of surveillance people. "It's odd to keep reminding myself that I'm actually being watched. Normally it's the sort of thing I've got to keep an eye out for to prevent," he said to Ruth.

Ruth gave a slight shrug. "The certainty of it might be nice."

"Well, at least I know no one else is going to come kill me while half the government is watching my every bloody move."

"The government's tried to have you killed before, so maybe don't put too much faith in the surveillance team," she cautioned.

In spite of himself, Harry gave a little chuckle. He reset the alarm after they went in, just in case. "Right, you can put your things upstairs and make yourself at home, and you're welcome to whatever," he told her.

Ruth's eyebrows raised. "Harry, I've never been here before, so unless you want me wandering around your upstairs, you'd probably better show me where things are."

"Oh, that's right," he realized. "I don't know why I feel like you should know your way around." _Probably because I've imagined you here with me so often, I forget you never really are_, he thought to himself.

Neither of them had anything to say to that, so Harry just led Ruth up the stairs and showed her to the guest room. He also showed her the bathroom down the corridor and explained that the tap on the bath was a bit fussy and if it were turned too much, the water was apt to scald.

"And I think that's it, really. You're welcome to use anything you find. I don't think I've got much. My room is down at the end, if you need anything during the night or…or anything." Harry wasn't sure why he'd told her that. It wasn't the sort of thing that needed to be said. Not right now, not to Ruth. "Erm, anyway, are you feeling alright? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine. I'll probably just sit and read for a while," she replied. Her expression gave nothing away. Harry could not tell if she was cross with him or uncomfortable or whatever else.

"The sofa's rather comfortable for reading," he told her.

"I'll probably just stay in the guest room for now," she said. And with that, she turned and walked back to the guest room and closed the door behind her.

Harry was left standing in the hallway, trying to work out why she'd run from him again. It was a strange sense of déjà vu, that. Though this was nothing like Havensworth. Not in the least. Harry gave himself a little shake to snap out of it and then he went back downstairs to find something to do.

Ruth stayed in the guest room all afternoon. She lay on the bed reading and dozing off. Whatever drugs were in her system had still not completely left her. And the result had made her utterly exhausted. There was something very comforting about being so tired and not having anywhere to be or anything to do. She could just shut her eyes and let sleep claim her whenever it crept up. She would be awake again a few minutes later, inwardly cursing that fact. Sleep was a good escape, and she very much wished she would never wake up ever again. There was too much pain and worry and confusion in the world. In her life. It would be so much easier for everyone if she could just drift away.

Eventually, her little naps were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. "Ruth, I've made dinner, if you're hungry. I think you should eat something," he advised.

She managed to force herself to get up and go to the door. She opened it and saw Harry looking at her with slight shock. "What?" she asked.

"I was just seeing if you wanted anything to eat," he replied.

"Yes, I heard you, but what's that look on your face for?"

His mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. "I…your hair is all mussed."

Ruth immediately tried to run her fingers through her hair and flatten it out. "I was taking a nap," she mumbled in slight embarrassment.

"I hope you were able to get some rest. You look rested, is what I meant. And I just…"

She frowned. "You just what?" she pressed.

"I just think you look very pretty."

Though she hated herself for it, Ruth blushed at his simple words.

Sensing her discomfort, Harry gestured to the stairs. "Dinner?"

"Yes, thank you."

Their first meal together in Harry's house was a quiet one. He'd made a lasagna and a simple green salad for them. The lasagna had taken a long time, as Harry had a recipe for his own meat sauce that he liked to make from scratch when he had the time. He usually didn't have the time, but he certainly did now. The step-by-step, methodical work was a comfort to him. And while she didn't say anything, Ruth must have enjoyed what he made. She ate every morsel on her plate, for which he was glad.

"Thank you for dinner, Harry. Can I help you clean up?" she asked politely.

"No, don't worry about it. You need to rest."

"I'm not a complete invalid," Ruth argued.

"I know you're not. But you were in hospital today, and I woke you up from a nap to eat. You should be resting."

"You're not my nursemaid, Harry. I don't want you waiting on me."

"You can help me with breakfast tomorrow, how about that?" he offered. "I was thinking of pancakes."

"That sounds very nice."

"Good. I've got blueberries and chocolate chips for them."

"Where have you gotten all this food? Surely you don't keep so much in normally?"

"I've got a delivery service that picks up everything from the market. I put in my order shortly after we got here, and it arrived while you were upstairs. Since I know I'll be stuck here for a while and I don't want to leave you on your own while I do the shopping, this seemed a good idea."

"That makes sense," she said with a small nod. "Well, thanks again. I think I'm going to have a shower and go back to bed. I'll be careful with the faucet."

"Of course. Goodnight, Ruth."

"Goodnight, Harry."

It was a very good thing that Harry had warned her about the faucet because it was much more temperamental than she'd imagined. As it was, the shower was just a bit hotter than was really comfortable but it did help soothe her and warm her right up. She got dressed in her pajamas and brushed her teeth before scurrying from the bathroom back to the guest room. She got under the covers for the first time and did not even bother trying to read any more of her book. She turned out the light, rolled over, and fell to sleep almost immediately.

Harry, meanwhile, knew that he might never get to sleep that night. He took his time washing the dishes and putting away the leftovers. He poured himself a large glass of scotch and considered what to do. It was far too early for him to go to bed, particularly when he had nothing to do. But he did not want to put on a record or try to watch television; the sound might disturb Ruth.

And that was just the trouble. Ruth. She was in his house. Upstairs in the guest room. In his house. He'd wanted nothing more than to live with her, to spend his days and nights with her for the rest of his life. What a strange set of events to lead her to finally having her sleeping here. Different circumstances than he'd hoped for, but he would take what he could get.

The greatest relief and the greatest burden of his suspension had been the thought that he wouldn't get to see Ruth in all the time he was away from the Grid. If he didn't see her, he wouldn't see the disappointment on her face whenever she looked at him. But if he didn't see her, he'd have absolutely no way of convincing her to change her mind about him. Today had not helped his cause in the least. He seemed to be saying too much or not enough. He just didn't want to upset her, especially when she was still recovering. But…well…at least she was here.

In the end, Harry took his drink to bed with him. Not a good habit, but he wasn't in a very good mood, so sod it all. He noticed that the light was out in the guest room. Harry paused by the door and heard nothing inside. Hopefully Ruth was sleeping peacefully.

When Ruth awoke the next morning, it took her a moment to orient herself to where she was. After a year of running all around Europe during her exile, she had gotten used to waking up in unfamiliar places. But then everything came flooding back. She was not gallivanting around Europe on the run from Oliver Mace. George was dead, Nico was an orphan, Ros was buried, Harry had tried to propose marriage to her, Harry had sacrificed Albany to save her life. She was in the guest room of Harry's house after being in hospital for collapsing in her kitchen. Once again, she'd woken up. And she really wished she hadn't.

Slowly, she got out of bed and went to the bathroom to begin the day. What was waiting for her this day? She wasn't sure. Harry had mentioned something about pancakes for breakfast. Without really thinking about it, she shuffled herself downstairs.

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the Times. He was dressed in jeans and a green jumper.

"Oh," she said in slight surprise. She wasn't used to seeing Harry so…casual. Even when he'd picked her up at the hospital, he'd been wearing slacks and a dress shirt.

He looked up to see her and a smile immediately broke out on his face. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?" he asked.

It felt practically offensive that he could be so pleasant this early. Or at least, Ruth thought it was early. "What time is it?"

"Nearly nine."

Not as late as she'd feared, but certainly not very early. Christ, she must have slept almost twelve hours. This recovery was brutal.

"Would you like some coffee before we start on breakfast?"

"I can drink it while we cook, if that's alright," she replied tentatively. "But maybe I should go get dressed." It was a bit embarrassing to be standing in the kitchen in thick socks, pajamas, and a heavy robe.

He shrugged, standing up to pour her some coffee. "Whatever you're comfortable in."

"Well, you're dressed."

"Habit," he answered.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in jeans before," she noted.

"Well, I'm not allowed to go to work or so much of anything. I may as well be comfortable. And I may as well not dirty up the clothes I have to get professionally cleaned."

Wasn't that a curious idea? A small smirk played on Ruth's face. "Do you do your own washing?"

"My suits and shirts and ties, when the occasion calls for it, are taken to the cleaners. My socks and vests and pants go in the hamper and I try to get the washing done once a week, though the cleaners will take it if I've had a particularly busy week."

She nearly started to laugh at his extremely serious tone. "I can't imagine you folding laundry."

"I'm not completely useless, Ruth," Harry grumbled.

"I didn't think you were. I just don't imagine you're very domestic."

"I made an entire lasagna from scratch last night!"

"Did you really? I assumed you just baked a frozen one or something."

"I'm glad my lasagna tastes like something frozen," he pouted.

"Well you didn't have any cooking dishes out in the kitchen," she countered.

"Some of us are very tidy in our tasks."

That felt like a rather pointed dig at Ruth's penchant for constant clutter. "Some of us find more important things to worry about than keeping every surface entirely cleared and dusted."

Harry opened his mouth to make some kind of retort, but he closed it again very quickly.

Ruth did not want to let him dismiss her like that, but the bickering was starting to give her a headache. "Are we making pancakes or not?" she snapped.

With a nod, Harry began to take the ingredients out of the refrigerator and cabinets and lay them out neatly on the countertop. When he got out the mixing bowl, Ruth began to pour the flour and sugar in and crack the eggs. Harry paused to watch her. "I should have known you'd know exactly what to do here as with anything else."

"My dad taught me how to make pancakes when I was about seven years old. We would do it every Sunday," she replied softly, letting the memory warm her on the cold autumn day.

"Before church?"

"We didn't go to church. Did you?"

"My mother did. She took my brother and me when we were young, but then I got older and started playing sport and I would skip church in favor of cricket matches."

"Did she start skipping church to come watch you play?"

Harry smiled. "As a matter of fact, she did."

"I imagine she was wonderful, your mother," Ruth thought aloud as she began to mix the batter.

"Do you imagine my mother?"

"Mmm. I sometimes wonder what she'd have thought of me."

He chuckled pleasantly. "She would have absolutely adored you. She would have thought you lovely and kind and a very good influence on me. All of which is correct."

"And your father? What would he have thought about me?" she asked.

"He would have asked me what I'm doing with a woman smarter than me and don't I know how dangerous that is for a man, after all, look at him and my mother."

She let herself laugh at that. "Well, I'm glad you think they'd have liked me."

"I'm sure your parents would not approve of me at all."

Ruth knew she ought to chide him for fishing for compliments that way, but she decided to play along instead. "Well, Dad would have been quite concerned over the fact that you're my boss and so much older than me. That alone would have made my mother absolutely insane and never let you even speak to me ever again. But I think one conversation over some good scotch and you'd win over my dad. Though I could be imagining that. I was eleven when he died. I've no idea how he'd have reacted to any man in my life. It was never anything we encountered while he was alive."

"I suppose we'll never know," he mused as he began to heat the skillet.

"I suppose it doesn't much matter," Ruth agreed, pouring the first pancake into the pan.

They had another meal together while almost completely silent. Ruth had gone quiet again, which bothered Harry more than it should have. They'd had such a nice morning so far. There had been some nice conversation, even crossing the line into a small bit of flirting. Other than the fact that Ruth was in her dressing gown—and looking thoroughly soft and lovely in it—and they were making pancakes, it nearly felt just like it always had between them. Harry had been encouraged by the easiness of their conversation, but now the mood seemed to have shifted, and Harry wasn't quite sure why.

After she finished eating their chocolate chip blueberry pancakes, Ruth started in on the dishes. Harry joined her a moment later.

"What would you like to do today?" he asked.

"I don't know. Probably read some more."

"You're welcome to do so downstairs. I thought I'd open a book for the first time in years, since time is all I seem to have, nowadays."

"Thanks, but I'll go back up to the guest room," she answered. And as soon as the dishes were done, Ruth had hurried out of the kitchen and back upstairs.

Harry knew she was avoiding him again, but he wished she wouldn't. But even to his own mind, it sounded a bit pathetic when he thought about why it was he wanted her near. He wanted to just be with her, and that was all. He loved to talk to her, of course, loved to work with her and share ideas and gaze into her beautiful eyes as they shone with intelligence as she spoke. But really, they didn't even need to talk. He just wanted her in the same room, to just feel her presence. Whenever she was gone from his side, whether for a few minutes or for two years, he always seemed to miss her.

As Harry thought about what Ruth meant to him, he found himself thinking about her virtues and her incredible value as a person. And once again, he could not be sorry for saving her life. There was no one like her in the world, and he'd had no choice but to save her. For everyone's sake.

That gave Harry an idea. He went down the hall to his study and turned on his computer. He realized that there was work to be done.

Ruth did not come out of the room all day. Twice, Harry heard the toilet flush. So she did leave the room, but she did not come downstairs. When he knocked on her door for dinner, she did not come to the door and she merely told him she wasn't hungry. He left her be, though he did not like the idea that she wasn't eating. Harry had leftover lasagna by himself that night, though he did turn on the telly. It was just too pathetic to be alone with no background noise or anything. The light was out when he went up to check on her before he went to bed. Darkness and silence.

The following morning, Harry made his way downstairs to start the coffee and found a brunette head visible over the back of the sofa. He approached the living room somewhat hesitantly. "Ruth?"

She turned to look at him. She looked as though she was trying to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I couldn't sleep anymore. I wanted to, but I couldn't."

He nodded kindly. "You've been spending a lot of time in bed while you recover. Your mind—particularly your mind, actually—is probably far too rested now and needs something to do."

"Maybe," she said quietly. She turned away from him and went back to staring out the window. "Come sit with me," Ruth requested, not looking at him as she did.

Harry did as she offered, taking a seat on the sofa beside her. He was close, though not quite touching her. Perhaps he should have given her more space than that. But he didn't really want to.

They were quiet for a little while, both looking out the window at the early morning gray. "It's going to snow," Ruth eventually.

"Is it?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Ruth, are you alright?"

The abrupt change in topic nearly made her turn, but she resisted. "Whenever I wake up, I keep wishing I wouldn't. And I know it's all in my head and I'll be fine, but I can't keep pretending. I wish I was dead," she confessed. All the while she kept staring at the window.

"Why?" he asked her simply, not trusting himself to say a single syllable more lest he give way to the panic and rage that her words inspired in him.

"Why am I alive when Danny and Fiona and Colin and Zaf and Adam and George and Jo and Ros aren't? They were all so much better than me. I might be clever, I know, but all of them were just so _good_. I am a coward and I haven't got any skills that really matter. I couldn't ever disarm a bomb or shoot someone or catch a terrorist. I'm barely passable with technology. I've never had children. I don't know how to save someone's life. What am I good for? Why did I survive when they all died?"

There was a bitter, sharp edge to her voice. Like metal. It made Harry nervous to hear. He answered her as delicately as he could. "I don't think it does either of us much good to ask why."

This time she did turn to face him. "You shouldn't have sacrificed Albany for me. You put so much at risk and all that you got for it was saving me. It wasn't fair to anyone. I'm not worth it."

"Yes, you are," he insisted, unable to stop himself from barreling through. "To me you are, Ruth. To me, you are everything."

This time it was her turn to ask, "Why?"

"Because I love you. I know you want a better answer than that, but I can't lie to you and give excuses and justifications beyond that. I don't know why you're more important to me than any person I've ever known, other than the fact that I love you."

He did not tell her that he'd spend the entire day before working on a very detailed report doing exactly what he didn't do for her; he was compiling all of the objective, professional reasons why Ruth Evershed was worth saving. When his disciplinary hearing did come up, Harry knew he'd need to be able to justify his actions. He was one of only about a half dozen people who knew that Albany didn't work, but the whole point of that was that only about half a dozen people knew and the threat of Albany loomed over foreign powers who may have otherwise leveled the playing field. But he wasn't going to tell Ruth all of that. All the reasons he had for saving her that he would give to the tribunal were nothing compared to the naked truth he'd just admitted to Ruth. He loved her, and that was the beginning and the end of all of it for Harry.

Ruth searched his face for a moment, worry and unshed tears gathering in her eyes. She blinked them back and turned back to the window. "It's snowing now," she realized.

Harry tore his eyes away from her and saw the snowflakes falling outside. "So it is."

They watched the snow in silence. After a minute, Ruth rested her head on Harry's shoulder. He was too stunned to move or say anything. He had just told her that he loved her and all she'd said in response was that it was snowing.

But there was something else that Harry wanted to say. "When Beth called me while you were in hospital, she made me realize something."

"Hmm?" Ruth hummed.

"In a very real and immediate sense, you're my only friend, Ruth." It was not a romantic declaration; he'd already made one of those to no avail. But it was perhaps a more vulnerable thing to say. And it was very much the truth.

"Yes," she replied. "And you're mine." Ruth laced her fingers between his, holding his hand as it rested on his thigh.

Harry did not know what to do. He did not know what else to say. He did not know if he should try to kiss her. He did not know if he should make some other sort of overture. And because he did not know what to do, Harry just stayed where he was. He tilted his head so his cheek touched the top of Ruth's head where it was still rested on his shoulder. He held her hand in his, reveling in the lovely sensation of it. And he and Ruth continued to watch the snow.

"We'll figure our way through this, Harry," Ruth said softly. "I just need some time."

"Yes, I know," he answered. He had figured as much. Ruth always needed time to work through anything and everything. Why should their relationship be any different?

"But for now, thank you for this. Just…this."

In spite of himself, Harry smiled. Yes, for now this was just perfect. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed a small smile on Ruth's face as well.

As the snow fell outside and coated the street in a soft blanket of white, Ruth made a final revelation for the moment. "It's nice to have a friend."

"Yes," Harry agreed, "it is."


End file.
